


Aurora

by a_muse_of_fire



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety, Buckle up everyone, Dad Solas, Dorian Pavus is the Best and we don't deserve him, Elvhen Glory ?, Elvhenan is Gone and Linnae is Angry, F/M, Fen'Harel's A+ Parenting, Oh boy where to start, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Uthenera, heads up for:, it's awkward when you date your daughter's friend isn't it wolfy, other relationships to be tagged later, the Egg of Betrayal (but we love him), this is going to be the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-01 05:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18329216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_muse_of_fire/pseuds/a_muse_of_fire
Summary: What happens when a vengeful god has nothing to lose?You are lost with him.The Second Inquisition of Thedas, as told by someone born seven thousand years earlier. (A hint: it’s not Solas.) For her, the world ended and was remade long before Corypheus’ attempted apocalypse. After being cut off from everything she’s ever known, the only choice is to move forward.Where one life ends, another begins.





	1. Pride Comes Before...

_“_ _Imagine instead spires of crystal twining through the branches, palaces floating among the clouds. Imagine beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing. That is what was lost.” ―Solas, 9:41 Dragon_

 

_B E F O R E_

E L V H E N A N

 

Someone was going to die tonight.

It was in the air; in the stiff motions of vallaslin-marked servants offering food and drink, in the lowered voices of nobles lining the ballroom, in the sharp smiles of the couples dancing across the floor.

Linnae Solafen’Harel tasted it on her tongue. She plucked a tall glass of champagne from a passing tray, swirling it absently. It was Winter Solstice; the longest night of the year, a time of shadows and secrets and courtly machinations. In Arlathan, most of the city would be celebrating with hot drinks and singing in the streets. But up in the floating Grand Palace, the Elvhen elite celebrated in a different way. Anyone who was anyone was here, dancing and drinking and plotting. Every surface glittered with gems and gold dust. Glowing faerie lights twinkled throughout the room, suspended above the crowd like stars.

She lifted the glass to her lips, inhaling—and a slow, creeping smile curled her mouth. Linnae smoothly lowered the champagne and set it on another passing tray without a second thought.

Someone would die, and perhaps it would be the next person who picked up that poisoned drink. But it would not be her.

These are the games her people play. Life and death are two sides of the same coin, meaning little to immortals with nothing but time to play with. Tonight, assassins walked the ballroom floor, intent on their targets—but in a room full of the most deadly Elvhen in the world, which one of them would die first?

In Arlathan, you were the wolf, or you were the sheep.

The tainted champagne was likely not a serious effort; it was too clumsy, too bold. A child’s game.

Linnae took a deep breath, smoothing a hand over the embroidered lace of her black dress. Her dark hair was held up by sharpened pins, her lips painted a deep blood red. Tonight was a night for a good hunt.

Tonight was a night for the wolves.

“Commander.” A male caught her attention off to the side; one of Mythal’s Sentinels. Not from Linnae’s regiment. “The General requests your presence."

“She’s occupied at the moment.” A voice spoke up just over her shoulder, and Linnae felt a shot of annoyance mixed with amusement.

The Sentinel’s brows drew together. “But the General—“

“Can wait,” Felras—and of course it was Fel, with his dazzling, insolent grin—draped an arm around Linnae’s shoulder. “The world won’t stop spinning because an Evanuris learns patience. The Commander’s promised me a dance.”

The Sentinel looked to Linnae, who nodded sharply. He vanished into the crowd with a distinctly uncomfortable expression.

“Your impertinence will be your death, Fel.” Linnae shrugged off his arm and gave him a smirk. “Best hope Fen’Harel is in a good mood or that Sentinel might lose his head.”

“Mythal wouldn’t let him take the male’s _head._ ” Felras pretended to be scandalized, then waved her off with a chuckle. “He’d probably just take a finger or hand.”

“So what’s this I hear about a dance?” She dusted an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder. His suit was immaculate, trimmed in shining gold that complimented his bronze skin, with his black hair slicked back for the occasion. Linnae resisted the urge to muss it up. Surely someone’s fingers would run through it by the end of the night—perhaps multiple someone’s. “Did Elera get bored of you?”

He wasn’t pretending, then, when his face turned sullen. “The witch tried to kill me twice already. I stand a better chance with you.”

“Because I’m less likely to try?” Linnae laughed. “Or because I’m more likely to succeed if I do?” Elera’s homicidal attentions weren’t serious—she would never truly harm Fel—but she _would_ lash out if he got on her nerves. The female was as unpredictable as she was dangerous, and they both loved her for it. Most of the time.

“Shall we find out?” Fel grinned and held out a hand in offer. Linnae regarded him coolly for a moment, but his resolve did not waver. He knew she would agree.

She always did.

Linnae placed her hand in his and followed his lead. They passed Elera on the dance floor, her white-blonde hair and shining dress a beacon to everyone nearby.

“I see our Wolf took pity on you.” Elera called over, smirking at Fel. She was in the arms of one of her comrades, another Commander for Elgar’nan. He might be of equal rank, and outweigh the slight girl by half, but he would never truly stand a chance against Elera Sheraliase—who stood out amongst Elgar’nan’s children as the best, the brightest, and the most bloodthirsty.

“At least she knows good company.” Felras retorted with a chuckle. Fel was an orphan of the War, adopted as a ward by Elgar’nan and raised alongside Elera and her brothers. He was one of the few people who could tease her and live.

“You know,” Linnae met Fel’s gaze as they swept out of Elera’s range. “I don’t have a single childhood memory without you two in it.” And it was true—Fel was a decade older, but she and Elera were born in the same year. Auspicious, the High Keepers had said. Meant to be soulmates, or rivals. No one knew which.

He grinned with a low chuckle. “What about the time you scaled the Grand Palace walls and tried to fly? We weren’t anywhere near that mess.”

“You’re conveniently forgetting who told me I couldn’t.” She spun out with the dance, twirling back to meet him a bit closer than was proper. “And I _did_ fly.”

“You were born for your command, it seems.” Fel complimented, even as his fingers ghosted over the chain of sharp golden feathers draped over her shoulders and integrated into her dress. He’d cut his hand on those if he wasn’t careful. “How fares your regiment, these days?”

“Stronger than ever.” Linnae’s smile was the edge of a knife. Mythal’s aerial griffon cavalry was the envy of Elvhenan military forces. They were ruthless, worked together flawlessly, and well-blooded in combat. Linnae clawed her way to their leadership by her first millennia, refusing any special treatment by way of her birthright. Anything given can be taken away; but what she earned was hers forever. “How are your shadows? I imagine there are plenty here tonight.”

Fel—or the Banvherassan, as he was known in Arlathan—never joined Linnae or Elera on the battlefield directly. He was Dun'himelan, a shape-shifter, and his particular skills were best suited to intelligence and espionage.

“You know I can’t tell you, Linnae’harel.” A sly smirk tilted up, his dark eyes glittering. Even after two thousand years of friendship, sometimes there was no telling what lay behind Fel’s obsidian gaze. Even his name was a mystery— _Felras_ —“the last shadow”. Linnae had always had a feeling it wasn’t his true given name.

 _Linnae_ ’ _harel_ was one of the names they called her on the battlefield, the dreaded Blood Rider. Elera and Felras thought it was ghastly and absolutely fitting, and they teased her with it incessantly.

“Fine, Banvherassan.” Linnae gave him a smile and left her foot in front of his for a half-second too long, letting him stumble as they continued.

He laughed and leaned closer, murmuring in her ear. “Wolf.”

“And proud.” Her voice was smooth as caramel, and she knew the game he played. Her hand immediately found his, halfway up her neck, and she dug her nails into his skin. “Ah, you know better.”

He’d been reaching for one of the pins in her hair, but even as she gave him a haughty, victorious smile, she felt the pin slide loose—and a curl fall from its place. Linnae still held Fel’s hand. She stepped away from him, turning to see—of course.

“Looking for this?” Elera grinned, holding the pin up. She’d abandoned her partner, it seems, already bored. But that was Elera—constant motion, constant change.

“I don’t imagine you’ll be giving that back.” Linnae smiled, and Fel casually drew his hands back and slid them into his pockets.

“Hmm,” Elera pretended to think about it, tilting her head so her sleek curtain of hair slid over her nearly bare shoulders. “I think I’ll keep it a while.” She moved closer to Fel, so the three of them stood as a small circle within the still-moving dance floor. Linnae couldn’t help but notice her dress was white and silver, where Fel’s suit was black and gold—the sun and the moon, those two. Always.  

“Planning to use it?” Felras glanced around for Elera’s prior dance partner. “I noticed Reaban’s hands wandering.”

Elera smiled wickedly, tucking the pin into her skirts. “He’ll learn not to touch what’s not his.”

“Unwelcome suitors, Elera? _You_?”

That earned Linnae a chuckle and a dramatic eye roll. “How are you faring in that department?” Elera looked her up and down. “That’s too nice of a dress not to have someone just as pretty take it off.”

“It’s Solstice,” she shook her head, the now errant curl brushing her neck. “I wouldn’t trust any of these vultures tonight.”

Elera laughed, but she glanced at Fel with what Linnae could swear was a knowing look. Did they have some match planned out for her this evening? Oh, fenedhis, she was _not_ up for that.

“Maybe—“ Fel began; but she never would find out what he was going to say. His eyes suddenly locked on something over her shoulder.

Linnae felt the presence then, a smoky starlight lingering on the edge of her senses. Fen’Harel’s magic tasted like darkness and the edge of a blade. She turned, inclining her chin like the dutiful soldier she was.

Fen’Harel’s voice was sharp, his storm grey eyes narrowed as he regarded her. “I sent for you.”

“I was dancing.” Linnae hated the childish petulance in her voice. “Celebrating with my friends.”

“You are needed.” His expression was stone, but Linnae noticed the slightest flick of his eyes to Felras and Elera. His eyes were always his tell. Fen’Harel trusted very few, and in his opinion Linnae was far too close with Elgar’nan’s line.

“It’s _Solstice,_ Father.” She tried to give him a smile, though her back was still ramrod straight. Something was wrong.

“I am not asking.” Fen’Harel turned on his heel and strode away, melting through the crowd and expecting her to follow. Linnae knew better than to disobey a second time. She bowed a short goodbye to her friends, murmuring an apology and moving to hurry after her father.

“Lin.” Felras reached out and caught her by the wrist. She turned back to look at him, but he hesitated. At his side, Elera’s expression was suddenly wary.

It was too much time. Her father was vanishing. “I’ve got to go.”

Fel’s gaze wavered, and he finally nodded. “Be careful.”

“Never.” She winked at him, lips turning up with a wry grin. “I’ll be back soon. Save me a dance, you two.”

Elera winked back. “Always, Linnae’harel.”

Fel let her go, then, and Linnae left. She glanced back over her shoulder, struck by how they both stood frozen on the dance floor, watching her go. The sun and the moon. She would never forget the odd look on Fel’s face, or the way Elera placed a hand on his arm, as if holding him back. At the time, she thought he was just disappointed she left so early.

After everything happened, Linnae realized it was because they both knew it was the last time they’d see her alive.

 

_T E N   H O U R S   L A T E R_

 

The sunrise was red.

Linnae Solafen’Harel of Terasyl’an Te’las, Raj'panathe Commander of the Great Protector Mythal’s Aerial Cavalry, Blood Rider, Scourge of the Western Desert, She Wolf of the Northern Kingdoms, Daughter of the Evanuris, was going to hunt down every last person responsible for the atrocity of this night.

She couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs were burning, her heart fading away with every pained exhale.

The other Evanuris had turned on Mythal. Linnae still wasn't entirely sure why. The All-Mother had received some kind of warning, and sought refuge in her sister’s home—Terasyl’an Te’las. Mythal’s sister, Eirlana, wife of Fen’Harel, had the best warding magic in Elvhenan. Fen’Harel sent the three of them—Mythal, Eirlana, and Linnae—to the castle for their safety while he chased down the lead.

But they were found. Followed. This was not a Solstice game. The lesser nobles were fair targets, but no one would dare touch an Evanuris on a holy night. This was a declaration of war.

They slaughtered everyone in Terasyl’an Te’las without a second thought. Everyone in the castle; the knights, the groundskeepers, the cook. Dead.

Linnae could not even find the energy to scream her rage at the sky.

It didn’t feel real. Only hours ago Linnae had been dancing, laughing carelessly with her friends on a glittering ballroom floor. Her mother had promised to meet her in the gardens at the Grand Palace at midnight, to watch the fireworks.

Now, she stood alone in the snow on a mountainside, hundreds of miles from the Grand Palace. There was blood everywhere—on her hands, her dress, in her hair. The black chiffon and lace gown was torn to shreds. Her elegant pins and jewels were long gone, her hair a tangled mess trailing down her back.

_Mother is dead._

Eirlana. The blue-eyed warrior who loved a male named Solas with all her heart. Before the titles, before the schemes, before the courtly intrigue and wars that skyrocketed Solas to the position of Fen’Harel—Eirlana had loved him.

And now she was dead. Murdered at her sister’s side, protecting the Great Protector until the very end. Mythal—Linnae’s aunt Rosala, with her heartfelt laugh and enduring spirit—was gone.

She could still see Elgar’nan, his smug expression of victory _._ The name throbbed in what was left of her heart like a war drum. He had spearheaded the betrayal. He had struck the killing blow. He had known—he had _known_ —where to find them, how to get inside. Linnae choked on her rage. She had played in his courts as a child, his own children were her dearest friends. _Elera. Felras_. That was a grief she could not name. Her most trusted friends would have known about this plot. Allowed it. Perhaps even aided it.

Linnae became a hollow shell, tasting only vengeance.

She would kill them all.

Abelas appeared from the doorway of the cabin where they’d fled. The crushed Eluvian was still inside, a shattered remnant of their escape. She’d nearly killed him for saving her life, and it showed in his wounds, but he still walked to her side. This was a safe house, mere miles from the castle where it all happened. Standing on the ridge, she could see her family’s home in the distance.

A sudden hush settled over the forest. Linnae dug her nails into her skirts, feeling her hair stand up on end as a chill creeped down her arms.

She felt a _tug,_ a deep pull from her innermost being, calling her, lulling her to… sleep?

It ached of her father’s magic, of Fen’Harel’s blood.

Something was happening.

Abelas reached over and grasped her shoulder, urgently, but Linnae didn’t need to follow his extended hand to see what caught his attention.

In the distance, at the castle, a horrible flash of green lit up the sky. It was like an explosion, a great burst of wind rushing away as a deafening _boom_ filled the air.

It approached them, and it felt so _wrong_ , Linnae backed up a step. This was something foul, something—

_Tug._

No. A spell wove over her, she felt it, saw an ethereal glow spiderweb over her hands, her body, her eyes—

The voice that filled her mind was ancient, and not her own.

_Sleep, blood of Fen’Harel._

Linnae clawed at her throat— _uthenera,_  she couldn’t, she had so much to do, a war to wage—

_Sleep._

Everything went dark.

 

_D U R I N G_

U T H E N E R A

 

The universe was dark, weightless, floating on the edge of eternity…

She could not remember why she slept, or for how long. There was only the darkness and the feeling of a cold blade at her throat. Time passed, or perhaps it didn’t. What was she, before this? Was she infinite? Did she have a beginning?

There was light.

Was this her end?

 

_A F T E R_

T H E D A S

 

She awoke to the sound of a branch snapping on the ground.

A tendril of awareness crept forward, seeking the golden light filtering through her dark prison. It had not been a true _uthenera,_ because she remembered next to nothing about it. But she had never been much of a Dreamer, anyway.

First, she felt her fingertips. They scraped against the stone beneath her. Then her toes, and slowly feeling crept up her body. She was stiff, she was leaden.

Linnae opened her eyes, taking a deep breath and immediately feeling dizzy from the air. She lay there a moment longer, staring up at the golden light and cracked tile ceiling. She was awake.

_She was alive._

And just like that, the fire within her chest ignited as memories flashed through her mind. It was a jumble, incoherent, too fast—everything was wrong.

Linnae sat up, slowly, taking in her surroundings. She lay on what had been a ceremonial altar, meant for _uthenera_ and spelled to protect its inhabitant from harm or discovery. The blankets beneath her had long dissolved, but her clothing and hair were still completely intact. And the clothes—leathers and a cloak, a warrior’s uniform. With a dagger. Bless Abelas. He must have realized what happened and taken care of her.

However, this temple—and which was it? She couldn’t tell from here—was in complete ruin. The forest had overrun it entirely, shooting up through the cracked floors. A wall and half of the ceiling were gone, allowing sunlight to wash over her through the trees.

She would have been spelled invisible to passersby for as long as she slept, but how long had it been? Did Abelas expect her to ever wake? There would be ena’sal’in’abelas assigned to her—had they been killed?

And then she felt it.

Or rather, _didn’t_ feel it.

Linnae’s stomach dropped. She was going to be sick. Magic was _gone_. There were no spirits nearby, the very air was tangibly _dull._  It was dead. Horribly mortal. The elgar’vhen’an was gone.

_What has he done._

She clenched her fists, startled when sparks of lightning shot out. Relief flooded through her. Magic was not gone completely—but it was irreparably diminished. It felt like there was a barrier between this world and the next, as if she was reaching through a waterfall to retrieve something from the other side.

Too sluggish, too slow. Linnae blinked to clear her thoughts, and then remembered with a start that she’d woken to a noise.

There were voices.

She stilled. Two figures, moving through the brush, approaching the open space where the western wall used to be.

A male and a female. The male met her gaze first, all gangly limbs and sun-kissed freckles. She noticed his long red hair a split second before his markings— _Andruil,_ he was beholden to that murdering huntress, this was a grave danger—

Linnae was on her feet, sweeping the dagger from her hip and holding it out in front of her. The action would have been slightly more threatening had she not experienced a sudden rush of dizziness as she stood; as it were, she lurched to the side and grasped the stone altar with her free hand.

“ _Who are you?”_ She hazarded a guess and spoke middle Elvhen, the green tongue, meant for trade and commerce. There should be enough magic left that the words could slide together—fill in the gaps of their mutual vocabulary, let them understand each other. It was a necessity for a kingdom as large and diverse as Elvhenan, for there to be magic embedded in their very language.

At her sudden movement, the male knocked an arrow and raised his bow halfway. He did not fully draw on her, but he eyed the knife cautiously.

“ _Servant of Andruil, I said, who are you?”_ Linnae spat. She was losing patience, spots dancing over her vision.

“ _Put down the blade_.” His eyes darted over her face, as if looking for something, and then narrowed suspiciously. His command of Elvhen was strangely halting, as if he was not a fluent speaker of his own tongue. But she could at least understand him, thankfully, and the dialect sounded similar to the middle Elvhen they used to speak in the South.

“Haleir.” The female spoke up, and Linnae finally slid her gaze over. And to her utter relief—Mythal _._ Those were Mythal’s wings etched on the blonde’s cheekbones. But what were they doing together?

The female inched around her companion, her hands held out in front of her as if calming a frightened animal. She, at least, spoke their dialect like a native. “ _Peace, friend. We mean you no harm.”_

“ _Who are you.”_ Linnae demanded, though she did lower her knife just a fraction.

“ _I am Thalia Ghilanna.”_ She gestured to her friend. “ _This is Haleir Datishan. We are of Clan Lavellan.”_

Linnae’s brow furrowed. She knew of no such affiliation. Clans were an old concept, something from her mother’s youth. Eirlana and Rosala were born of an ancient clan in the mountains. But Linnae’s father had no such connection, and during her own lifetime these things had faded from the culture. Perhaps she’d slept so long that the concept of clans had returned amongst the Elvhen. But were they truly Elvhen? Magic was diminished, the realm of spirits severed from the world. Could they still even prolong their lives?

An uneasy feeling set into the pit of her stomach.

“ _Can we ask your name, friend?”_ Thalia Ghilanna asked. The word she used—sal’melin—felt like _given name,_ so she complied.

“Linnae.” When she saw no recognition in their eyes, she finally lowered the blade. “ _I am Linnae.”_

Haleir Datishan asked something, then, in a harsh tongue Linnae failed to recognize entirely. She shrugged and shook her head. 

His eyebrows shot up, shock registering on his face. He spoke again, incredulously, but Thalia laid a hand on his arm and gave him a warning glance.

“ _Do you need shelter or aid?_ ” Thalia asked her. “ _We are camped nearby, and you are welcome to meet our Keeper tomorrow morning when we return to the Clan._ ”

Keeper. She knew that term. A high priest would be of assistance, depending on who they served. But—“ _Where is this place?”_

Thalia’s brows furrowed. She hasn’t expected that question. “ _The Free Marches, a few miles outside of Wyncome.”_

“ _What?”_ Linnae glanced back around the half-excavated room. Years of decay surrounded her—decades. Maybe even centuries? The thought nauseated her. These Elvhen in their painfully mortal and spirit-deprived world spoke a dialect she didn’t know and mentioned places she’d never heard of.

Linnae leaned back against the altar, settling her weight against it and fighting her rising panic. Against her best judgment, she asked one more question.

 _“When is this?_ ” Elvhen marked the years, but never paid close attention to their number. Her mother and aunt were murdered in the third millennia since Arlathan’s founding. Was she now in the fourth? “ _What year?”_

Thalia was cautious, now, stepping closer with the beginnings of pity in her voice. “ _Nine-forty Dragon._ ” At Linnae’s utterly blank look, she tried again, using a slightly different phrasing. “ _Year nine-hundred and forty, in the Dragon Age.”_

“ _Dragon Age?”_ Her voice shook, an entirely new fear taking hold. “ _How long is that since the Founding of Arlathan?”_

 _“From the old Elvhen calendar?”_ Thalia shook her head. “ _That was… the Founding was about eight and a half thousand years ago, give or take.”_

Eight and a half…

Linnae stumbled, losing her grip on the altar’s ledge and falling to the side. The knife slipped from her hand, scattering across the decrepit tiles.

She was going to be sick. Her heart was pounding, the thrum echoing in her head as her vision swam. She heard them clamor to help her, but Linnae did not care.

Five thousand years. She’d been gone for _five thousand years._

Distantly, she noticed something glinting on the leg of her trousers. A hair pin, golden and sharp, stuck through the fabric with a small scrap of parchment wound around it. Enchanted to stay preserved with her. She slid it out and pulled it open with trembling fingers.

She knew his handwriting immediately, and her blood boiled at the sight.

 _Lin_ — _I’m sorry things had to happen this way. I wish we’d had more time._

Another dizzy spell washed over her, and Linnae blacked out, fading back into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So, this story is going to be slow going. It's really just me taking something I've worked on for... a really long time now, and actually making it presentable. It's fun. It's a journey. I have no betas, editors, or any idea what I'm doing. Comments are more than welcome. I might begin a posting schedule but it really could be anywhere from days to weeks, depending on what else is going on or how the muse is feeling. 
> 
> Welcome to the ride!
> 
> •••
> 
> Elvhen (as taken from FenxShiral’s amazing lexicon):
> 
> Solafen’Harel: the pride of Fen’Harel  
> Banvherassan: a panther  
> Linnae’harel: “your blood deceives”  
> Raj’panathe: Master of battle, commander specifically of battle mages  
> Uthenera: “the long sleep”; a dreaming sleep where Elvhen draw upon the fade for sustenance and survive for centuries. They may or may not wake up.  
> ena’sal’in’abelas: warriors assigned to protect those in uthenera  
> elgar’vhen’an: the home of the spirits; the Fade


	2. To The Pyre

_She dreamed of fire._

_Green flames, roaring all around. A cacophony of eerie laughter bounced in her ears, echoing. Her enemies, Elvhenan’s enemies, mocking. Her kingdom had fallen. Her family was gone._

_Everything she’d worked for, vanished._

_Linnae wouldn’t cry. She would never show such weakness. But she felt her shoulders cave inward, the laughter grating on her very soul._

_“You’re awake.”_

_She knew that voice._

_The fire turned red. Howling rage. It was him. Felras, standing before her. His note wasn’t enough. He had to taunt her dreams, too._

_He looked… different, than she’d last saw him. Older. But he watched her with that same fierce obsidian smolder. A slow smirk spread across his lips. “Finally.”_

_“I know this isn’t real,” Linnae growled. “But tearing your throat from your neck in a vision is just as satisfying.” She lunged—and he evaporated, because of course he did._

_Fel suddenly stood behind her, his low voice murmuring in her ear._

_“Good to see you too, little wolf.”_

Linnae woke with a start, her pulse roaring in her ears. It was only a thousand years of discipline that kept her from crying out.

The darkness bore down around her. She was trapped, she was in _uthenera_ , that endless dream that she couldn’t remember—

No. Linnae blinked, noticing pinpricks of light high above. Stars. She lived. She breathed.

“I am awake.” Linnae whispered, her breath clouding the cool air. She slept in a hammock under the stars, at the edge of Clan Lavellan’s camp. The Trade words were clumsy on her tongue, her accent strong in this foreign language, but she needed to learn. She forced herself to speak it as much as possible, even alone. “I am awake. I am alive.”

It was her mantra these days. Linnae sat up, letting a gentle frost cover her hand and then pressing it to the back of her neck. The chill helped ease her pounding headache. Even in Elvhenan, they rarely spoke of the recovery from _uthenera_ , and she had never known anyone to wake after sleeping for so very long. She’d experienced weeks of terrible weakness, dizzy spells, headaches, exhaustion. Perhaps the grief tied into it. Her lack of purpose. What was there, anymore, if her world was gone?

The nightmares plagued her. What a cosmic irony it was, that she slept for five thousand years without remembering anything but the emptiness, but could not get a minute of peaceful rest after waking. She didn’t often dream, before, and hadn’t had a single recurring dream since she was very young. But now the flames haunted her every night.

“Lightning girl.” A voice whispered from the shadows. Linnae turned. Haleir melted from the trees, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “What are you doing up?”

She slid out of her hammock and shrugged.

“Well, I can’t sleep either.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Walk with me?”

She followed. Haleir Datishan Lavellan had become an… unexpected ally. Linnae lost half of her family, suffered a horrible betrayal, and then turned around and slept for five millennia to wake up to a world completely changed. Elvhenan was gone. Arlathan fallen. Humans were an entirely foreign concept to her. Linnae had encountered many different cultures in Elvhenan, to be sure, but there were just barely rumblings of interactions with the underground Dwarven kingdoms back then. She’d never met anyone of a different race.

The humans ruled in these times, penning the elves like animals in their cities and forcing them into servitude and slavery. The Dalish—what the wandering clans called themselves—had lost their land and now endured a life on the move to avoid such capture.

It pained Linnae to no end to learn how far her people had fallen. She could not help but feel somehow responsible, that she slept away centuries while Elvhenan crumbled. Could she have made a difference? Surely, as a military commander, she could have helped staunch the slaughter and protect their territory. But when the Fade receded and the Veil arose, Elvhen lost their immortality. She would have been faced with a sudden shortage of years.

Mortality was an uncomfortable idea.

Only Thalia and Keeper Deshanna—who was not a High Priest as she expected, but instead the leader and knowledge-keeper of the clan—were actually fluent in Elvhen. Or at least what they called Elvhen; the High tongue was gone, a tangled version of middle Elvhen from the South the only thing that survived. Her very _language_ was nearly dead.

Those first few days, they’d argued on what to do with her. Linnae pretended not to hear. _An apostate_ , Deshanna had said. _If she’s a runaway from the Circles, the Templars will be on her trail. She could lead them right to us._

Thalia convinced the elder to let her stay. Linnae couldn’t have cared either way. She’d seethed with her cold rage and let them whisper. She was alone in this world. 

But Haleir, even though he couldn’t understand half the words coming out of her mouth, and even though she nearly hissed at him every time she saw his _vallaslin_ , was the one to take care of her. It started with small things—a plate of food next to her sleeping place. A more comfortable blanket when he noticed the one she had made her hands itch. He taught her Trade, with an incredible level of patience for someone so young and short-lived. Linnae had met Elvhen twice her age with less.

The first time he woke her from a nightmare, she’d nearly electrocuted him to death.

“ _My sister suffered night terrors_ ,” was all he said. He learned not to touch her when she slept after that, but he would nudge her hammock if she cried out. Linnae had not apologized for almost killing him, and he actually gained a modicum of her respect for not pressing the matter.

But he did call her “lightning girl” after that. It was not her worst nickname.

Now, she trailed him through the brush to a clearing with a small hill. They climbed to the top, and she noticed a large statue of a wolf. 

 _Fen’Harel_. They so feared her father that they put statues of him facing away from the camp. At first, she laughed at the very thought—it was her father—but then Linnae remembered that her father ended the world. The thought sat like a stone in her stomach. Linnae walked up and ran a hand over the nose of the statue.

Maybe he was someone to be feared, after all. 

“You’re not afraid of wolves.” Haleir noted. He kept his sentences simple, but gave her new vocabulary all of the time. She’d used a small amount of magic to hasten her learning, as much as she could manage in her weakened state. It was a simple spell. But it still required work.

“I… respect them.” LInnae shrugged.

After a long moment, he pointed up. Linnae craned her neck just in time to see a shooting star streak across the sky. She glanced back at him, and Haleir grinned. “It’s lucky. You’re supposed to wish on them.”

“What would I wish for?” Linnae asked, her voice unexpectedly thick with emotion. What could she even wish for, at this point? For her mother to come back to life? For her father to not have severed the very fabric of the world? She had started to think straight, after weeks of harsh emptiness, and realized she had no idea what he’d actually done or if he even survived. He must have, and cast a spell on his own bloodline to preserve them from danger. It was her only hope—that she could find him, somehow undo the damage he’s done.

Haleir leaned over, nudging her shoulder with his and lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I always wish for a giant plate of pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” Linnae wrinkled her nose.

“Yes. Flat savory cakes, they’re a breakfast food.” Haleir reeled back, pretending to be affronted. “You’ve never had pancakes? Oh, there’s this inn just outside of Ostwick, we have to go. And Antivan pancakes. You haven’t lived until you’ve had those. “

And Linnae couldn’t help it—her lips quirked up at the corners. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Is that a smile, lightning girl?” He grinned like a child on Yule. “You haven’t done that yet. That is a welcome sight indeed.”

“You are ridiculous.” Linnae’s tongue twisted over the word, and she was proud to remember it.

“You’ve no idea.” Haleir laughed, and then sighed. “Sun’s almost up.” The sky was beginning to tinge pink on the horizon. A jolt went through her when she saw it. Linnae had not seen a sunrise since that fateful morning. Suddenly she wasn’t on a hill—she was on a mountain. Her black dress was in tatters. Her hands were slick with blood, her lungs burned, she couldn’t breathe—

“Hey,” she heard a muffled voice, in the distance. “Hey, lightning girl. Linnae. You with me?”

A hand squeezed around hers, and Linnae flew back to the present, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. Her heart thudded in her chest. She looked back to Haleir with wide eyes, and he took her other hand as well.

“Breathe with me. In, out. In,” he inhaled slowly, holding the air in for a few seconds and then exhaling. “Out.”

Linnae had no choice but to mimic him. She knew battle-shock, the tremors and attacks that can come after something traumatic. She knew what he was doing, the ways to help. But she hadn’t dealt with it in centuries. Not like this.

After a few moments, he squeezed her hands twice, and she squeezed back. “Here, let’s sit.” Haleir let go and turned away from the sunrise, sitting on the ground. She turned and sat with him, and he pulled the blanket over both their shoulders. When Linnae’s breathing stabilized and she no longer felt like she’d been kicked in the chest, Haleir spoke up.

“My sister’s name was Leilani.”

It was the quiet tone of an admission, and Linnae was silent. 

“She was this little red headed imp of a girl.” Haleir continued, with the slightest hint of a smile. “Leila breathed trouble. She also breathed fire, and that was dangerous, here.” His expression shuttered. “She would have nightmares, horrible, in the Fade. Demons tempting her, attacking her. It plagued her for years.”

“She was a Dreamer.” Linnae murmured. “They would attack someone with a strong... gift for changing their home.”

Haleir shrugged. “We don’t have a lot of magical knowledge out here, and Dreamers are the stuff of legend. Sure, Thalia studied with Deshanna, but it’s mostly in Elvhen culture and then Thal’s elemental affinity. Our parents weren’t mages. No one knew what was happening to her.” He clenched his fists. “Only that she nearly burned the camp down in her sleep. More than once.”

Linnae tilted her head, watching him. “So what happened?”

“There were…” Haleir sighed, and she caught anger flickering in his eyes. “Leila was supposed to be Deshanna’s Second. But with her lack of control, how powerful she was, people started to fear her. Wanted her gone. There was even talk of sending her to a Circle Tower. But they’d kill a girl like her, or worse.”

His voice became hoarse, almost choking on the words. “Ten years ago, when she was just thirteen, she decided enough was enough. She disappeared, ran away. I was already a hunter, I’d taken _vallaslin_ at sixteen. I tracked her for eight miles. And when I found…”

Haleir cleared his throat. “When I found her, she was already gone. Templars had spotted her and tried to take her. They had her tied up in a wagon, hands bound so she couldn’t cast, but they didn’t know my Leila was a dragon. She set the whole thing on fire and burned with them.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, Linnae processing this information. The cruelty of humans, of Templars. The ignorant fear of Dalish. The strength and grit of one thirteen-year-old girl, who would rather brave death than a life of captivity.

This was her father’s legacy. _Her_ legacy.

“I’m sorry.” Linnae whispered.

“After,” he continued. “I could not even get close to the campfire. Forget cooking, or tanning hides. It was impossible.” Haleir held out a hand. Linnae grasped it. “Leila and I had a code. When she was gone, Thalia learned it and used it to help with my attacks. If I squeeze twice,” he did so, pulsing her hand two times. “I’m asking if you’re okay. If you are, squeeze back twice. If you’re not, squeeze once.” He gripped her hand harder for a long moment. “And that means, ‘get me out of here’. No questions asked, no reasons needed. I’ll help. Thal will, too.”

Linnae wasn’t sure what to say. The kindness he showed, the gentle understanding… Fel would never have been so forgiving, neither would Elera. She would never tell them about these things, or let them see her vulnerable. Was this… was this what trust was actually about?

“So if the sun is rising, and I do this,” Haleir squeezed her hand two times. “What would be your answer?”

She gazed down at their hands, intertwined. Linnae had been battling these past weeks, deciding what to do next. Deciding if she could move forward, much less how. This world was not promising, and probably not even worth saving, if it came down to it.

But Haleir was kind. Thalia has stood up for her. And she could use allies in the fight to come. (Because there would be a fight. There always was.)

Linnae squeezed his hand, once.

“Okay.” He nodded, and that was that. He stood, pulling her up with him, and let go of her hand to wrap his arm firmly around her shoulder. They walked until they’d hit the cover of trees, and Haleir kept the blanket tucked around them.

Linnae didn’t catch another glimpse of the dawning sky.

 

_O N E   Y E A R  L A T E R_

T H E   F R O S T B A C K  M O U N T A I N S

 

“You’re slow today." 

“Well, I’d be a lot more awake if someone wasn’t kicking my back half the night.”

“You snore.”

Linnae huffed a laugh as she gathered their dishes from breakfast. Thalia stood with her hands on her hips, watching Haleir collect his hammock. He was moving about as fast as a glacier, but they were all exhausted after so many days of travel.

“I thought you two shared an aravel growing up.” Linnae raised a brow at their banter, summoning the water from the nearby stream without a second thought to rinse off their plates.

“Me?” Haleir dramatically gestured to himself. “Share with a high and mighty First? Miss mage over there’s been tossing icicles since she could walk. She never had to share with us common folk.”

Thalia stuck her tongue out at him, and Haleir’s laugh echoed through the trees. They had an easy companionship that Linnae envied, even now. It struck a painful chord.

The three of them finished breaking camp in a comfortable silence, and once they were packed, huddled around Thalia’s map.

“We’re almost there,” Haleir pointed. “Just a half day’s ride to Haven.”

Linnae followed his finger on the map, to the small village nestled in the… Frostback Mountains. She’d mastered their alphabet rather quickly, but sometimes it took a moment to translate unfamiliar words in her head. The Frostbacks, from what she could tell, would be where Terasyl’an Tel’as used to be.

 _Home_.

It’s why she came with on this journey. Keeper Deshanna had instructed Thalia and Haleir to scout the human meeting called the Divine Conclave.

Linnae pulled her hood up as they climbed on their horses and moved out, hiding her ears. They intended to be as inconspicuous as possible. She’d hidden her identity before, but the thought that she had to hide her race to avoid trouble was still mind-boggling. 

(“ _Humans_ _aren’t_ _always_ _kind_.” Thalia had instructed her months ago, on her first foray away from the Clan’s camp. “ _Especially_ _the_ _men_ , _and_ _especially_ _to_ _mages_. _Never_ _let_ _a_ _stranger_ _see_ _your_ _magic_.”

What an incredibly foreign concept, to be the one in fear because of her own magic.)

Haleir drifted back to ride next to her. “Anything?”

She’d claimed amnesia. It was the easiest lie. They guessed she may be from these mountains, and had been curious if her memory would strike with the journey. Linnae shrugged one shoulder. “A little. I feel like I remember this place.”

It was true. The cast of the sunlight through the leaves, an old trail winding through foothills and towering mountains fast approaching, felt oddly familiar. She’d traversed most of the continent, so it shouldn’t be surprising, but it still sent a pang through her chest.

“Maybe you were from around here.” Haleir smiled hopefully, encouragingly. “We’ll start looking for tall elves with lightning magic.”

“I am not _that_ tall.” Linnae asserted, lifting her chin. 

“Play nice, you two.” Thalia called back at them, looking over her shoulder with a grin. 

“Of course, _Mama_.” Haleir called, and Linnae snickered. It amused her to no end how Haleir teased Thalia for being the eldest, at a mere thirty years. Hal was twenty-seven, now.

They thought Linnae was only twenty-three. 

 _Twenty-three years old_. It was laughable. When she was actually twenty-three, she was still living in her father’s castle, training in Arlathan with Elera. She’d only been through three assassination attempts. She hadn’t even enlisted in Mythal’s army yet.

But she’d had no concept of mortal age spans, and when Thalia insisted she didn’t look a day older than twenty-two, Linnae shrugged and said “you must be right”. And she was—give or take twenty six hundred years. She’d claimed a summer birth, let them make her sweets and sing an old Dalish song. Happy Birthday, indeed.

They found a main road, and started seeing other travelers as they neared Haven. A cluster of magic-users—mages—with tattered cloaks and splintered staves. A battered regiment of human soldiers with flaming swords emblazoned on their armor. No one paid Linnae or Haleir much mind, but even with her ears covered and her staff tucked amongst the saddlebags, Thalia drew gazes everywhere she went.

Linnae had realized immediately that Thalia was a little bit like Elera; she had her own gravity. Honey-blond hair that fell in natural waves, a piercing gaze that missed nothing, a slightly lopsided smile. She was endearing and aloof all at once, radiating leadership like it was the easiest thing in the world.

It’s her birthright. Elera was that way; raised as a prized daughter of Elgar’nan, with the innate knowledge that she would one day rule kingdoms. Thalia had come into her magic at a young age, and was immediately placed into Deshanna’s care to be the next Keeper. But where Elera clawed her way to greatness, Thalia embraced it with a smile. She believed the key to her people’s loyalty was love, not fear. It was how Mythal had ruled, and Linnae appreciated that about her.

There was a commotion up ahead; a line, already, marching into the village. The three of them slowed and dismounted as they neared a knot of refugees. Linnae knew war when she saw it, and did not have to ask what these people had been through. The Mage-Templar conflict had been going on for a few years, apparently.

Thalia approached a young girl, an elf with no blood-writing, who straggled behind her group. She wore a tattered cloak and boots that were far past worn out. Linnae could hear Thalia greet her kindly—“ _peace, lethallin_ ”—and inquire about her journey. The girl eyed her warily, staring at her _vallaslin_ , but Thalia simply offered her water skin and smiled.

It’s a wonder what a little kindness can do. After a few minutes Thalia caught back up with them and reported that the road to Redcliffe was wrought with bandits, there was a concentration of rebel mages in the Hinterlands, and the Arl Eamon was providing aid to survivors who remained faithful to the Chantry.

“Her name is Hannah.” Thalia sighed. “I could sense her magic, though she doesn’t carry a staff, and insists upon being a farm girl.”

Linnae glanced back to the elf, her dark arms thin and her breathing heavy, unaccustomed to such long travel outdoors. “That child hasn’t worked a field a day in her life.”

“At least she knows to lie.” Haleir grit his teeth. “Templars left and right, here.”

“That’s the point, Hal.” Thalia sighed.

He was having a difficult time keeping himself in check, around so many of the soldiers. Murderers, he’d called them, glowering uncharacteristically as they passed a group earlier. He had every right.

Linnae reached out and casually set her hand on Haleir’s shoulder, squeezing twice. He looked at her with a grim smile and covered her hand with his. Two squeezes. Good.

After another hour or so, they finally reached Haven. Village was a generous term; it was little more than a handful of buildings and cabins surrounding a large temple. Chantry, Linnae reminded herself. The actual temple—the place of Sacred Ashes, homage to their deity’s bride Andraste—was further up the mountain.

The three of them kept to the outskirts; even hoods couldn’t hide Thalia and Haleir’s _vallaslin_. And this was a gathering to which the Dalish clearly weren’t invited.

So, Linnae was in charge of doing the talking, and thankfully her Trade was much improved. She still had a lilting accent, difficult to place from any one region, but Thalia insisted she sounded Marcher enough to get by.

(“ _Eyes_ _like yours, nobody’s listening to the way you talk, anyway_.” Haleir had winked and clapped her on the shoulder, and Linnae just rolled those blue eyes skyward. “ _Just bat your lashes and you’ll have those shems on their knees_.”)

Bat her lashes, indeed. Linnae glared at the merchant who just sold her some overpriced fabric so she could mend the tears in Haleir’s trousers. These men were poaching on the war-torn, peddling wares at twice their value just because they could. It was disgusting. In Arlathan, they would be—

 _No_. Linnae grit her teeth. _We are not in Arlathan_.

“You’re a long way from home.” 

She whirled at the voice, a hand straying to the inside of her cloak, where the dagger rested at her hip. It was a human, just behind her. A male, a very tall one at that. Linnae glanced him up and down, taking in the well-oiled armor, coif of blonde hair, the scar pulling at his lip. A soldier. A seasoned warrior. She opted for diplomacy. “Pardon?”

He gave her a half-smile, and Linnae would deny the flutter in her chest until her dying day. “Your accent. That’s very north Marcher, if I’m not mistaken.” He shrugged. “I spent some years in Kirkwall, myself. Here for the Conclave?”

“I… yes and no.” Linnae gave him a smile that would placate most males, and she saw him relax just slightly. “My friend is going, I just came for the journey. I’ve never seen so many…” She glanced around, not seeing a single set of pointed ears. _Shemlen_. “People, in one place before.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning down closer. She tightened her grip on her hidden dagger. His voice was a low rumble in his chest. “Then you’ll want to be careful, my lady. There are many who would not have taken so kindly to that knife you nearly pulled on me.”

Linnae felt her cheeks flush. In a flash, he stepped back and winked at her, that _insolent_ —

“Good day to you.” He nodded, a hint of amusement in his eyes, and walked away.

She stared after him, her face burning. He’d nearly had the drop on her, and he’d noticed her weapon right away. She was Linnae Solafen’Harel, who did this _shemlen_ male think he was?

Linnae folded her arms and hurried back to their camp. If she ever saw him again, she wouldn’t opt for diplomacy a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so so so much for the feedback on the last chapter! This is a bit of a transition, moving from the Fall to catch up with the events of Inquisition. It’s a little clunky, and I might come back and edit later, but I’d rather get something out and keep writing the story than nitpick over small parts :) 
> 
> Again, comments (and suggestions) are more than welcome!


	3. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Haleir had a bad feeling about this.

“I just don’t see why you have to go _alone_.” The three of them were safe at their camp, in the woods outside of Haven. They had to move up into the hills, clearing an area to set up tents and bedrolls. It was too cold to sleep in the open air, here—the mountains always had snow on the ground.

“We’ve been over this, Hal.” Thalia stoked the fire with a wave of her hand. “One in, one out. You two as lookouts. I need your eyes out here, and Linnae’s wards ready in case things do go poorly.” He opened his mouth, and she quickly continued. “Which they won’t.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He grumbled, dusting snow from his trousers. Linnae sat at the other side of the fire, serenely mending his other pair. He didn’t believe her passive expression for a moment. “You agree with me, right, lightning girl?”

“It’s a one-person mission.” Linnae said without looking up from her work. “And Deshanna put Thalia on point. Her call.”

 _Her call_? Just last month Linnae had been reprimanded for ignoring Deshanna’s explicit instructions on how to deal with a group of traveling _shemlen_ merchants. Instead of observing and reporting back, she _traded_ with them. Sure, _now_ she follows orders, when there’s not a bolt of new blue fabric in it for her. Haleir huffed a sigh and held up his hands. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when the _murderers_ toss you in a dungeon.”

Thalia stood, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “They’ll have to catch me first.” Her smile was blinding, and for a moment all of Haleir’s doubts faded away. His whole life, Thalia had been a guiding beacon; his universal constant. _The sun rises in the east, and Thalia Ghilanna always knows what to do._ It was easy to forget, sometimes, how she could make you feel ready to take on the world.

The sun went down too quickly, in Haleir’s opinion. The Conclave was slated to begin in the morning; everyone had gone up the mountain to prepare for the debates. Thalia would sneak in under the cover of night to observe.

They packed her gear in silence. Haleir was still uneasy, and even Linnae seemed to regret Thalia leaving alone.

“Fly well, _lethallin_.” Linnae smiled, gripping Thalia’s forearm. It was an odd phrase, but Haleir and Thalia had learned many Linnae-isms over the past year. _Fly well_ meant some variation of _good luck_.

“I’ll see you both in three days’ time.” Thalia nodded, turning to hug Hal tightly. “Stay safe.”

“You too.” Haleir murmured into her hair. He hated this moment; the goodbye. The waiting that comes after.

Thalia stepped back, and Haleir noticed her fiddling with her necklace. The polished ring hanging on the end of a simple leather cord, and all of the history it implied. But he just nodded and said, “He’s with you.”

Her confident facade faltered, just for a moment. Forest green eyes haunted by old pain. “I know.”

That was all they could say, really. Thalia left.

“She’ll be alright.” Linnae squeezed his shoulder, twice. Haleir covered her hand with his and squeezed back. Two times. The solemn girl gave him a nod and walked back to the fire. “Get some sleep, Hal.” She called over, picking up some scrap of fabric and working at the stitches. “I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

Haleir clenched his fists. How could he sleep when he knew his best friend in the whole world was walking into a pit of vipers? When a horde of _Templars_ were less than a mile away? This whole thing was going to go to the Void in a handbasket.

But he’d promised Linnae first watch, as always, and he would be of no use to tomorrow if he was exhausted. And maybe… maybe he was more tired than he thought. The moment his head hit the pillow, he said a quick prayer for Thalia’s safety, and dropped into sleep.

—

Linnae waited until the moons were high in the sky.

It would be easiest to see where she was going, that way, without striking a flame or faerie light. She had packed her things when Thalia was preparing to leave; making a show of pulling out her stitching and leaving it spread out by the campfire while she slid necessities into a bag. She didn’t need much, anyway.

She walked to the edge of camp, hovering at the end of the wards she’d set up earlier. She pushed what strength she could spare into them, fortifying their protection so Haleir would sleep safely. (And he _would_ sleep—she’d made sure of that with a little nudge earlier.) No one would even be able to see their camp until the wards expired at sunrise.

Linnae glanced over her shoulder to the tent; Haleir was a good male, and she wished she could give him a better goodbye. But she had a mission of her own, and this was her chance.

_Find Fen'Harel. Fix what he’s done._

She could undo the damage. If anyone could do it, it was her. She stepped over the invisible line of her wards and didn’t look back again.

The Lavellans had offered her a year’s protection, recovery, and even camaraderie. They’d welcomed her on a mission of utmost secrecy without a second thought. And she was incredibly grateful. But Linnae Solafen’Harel was an iron arrow. A wolf on a hunt. She would not be deterred. And if there was even the _slightest_ chance of putting things back the way they were…

She had to try.

The night was silent as she hiked further into the mountains. Her dreams had gotten worse, the closer they came to the Frostbacks. It had to be the right direction. These mountains had probably withstood thousands of years; she could certainly find some way home.

And that’s when she felt it.

A _pulse_ of magic that nearly knocked her off of her feet. Starlight, shadows, the cold taste of steel.

Linnae whirled around, searching for the source—but all she could see was the great Temple in the distance, the meeting place where Thalia was currently sneaking inside. What was—

For the second time in her life, the world exploded in a wash of green light.

—

Haleir woke to the sounds of screams.

He sat up with a jolt—there was someone crouched over him, and he lashed out with an arm before he realized—

“Haleir,” Linnae’s eyes were wide, her face and hands scratched and covered in smears of dirt and something vaguely dark green. “Hal, get up. It’s bad.”

His thoughts were a jumble as his instincts and muscle memory got him to his feet. Out of the tent, a bow in his hand, shoving his feet into boots. He was glad he’d slept in warm clothes. Linnae was armored, in a cloak, how had she had time to—was that her pack, strapped to her?

And why hadn’t he, a Hunter and member of the Clan’s Guard for five years, woken at the first sound of trouble?

But then Haleir took in their surroundings.

The village was in flames, down the hill. People screaming and running. A fire! But—the sky—the sky was—

“ _Elgar’nan’s blade_ , what is _that!_ ” Haleir could only stare.

A wretched green _hole in the sky_ pulsed above the _remains_ of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It was gone. His heart skipped in his chest. “Thalia,” He grit out. “Thalia!” He shouldn’t have let her go, he shouldn’t have—

“Look.” Linnae grabbed his shoulder and pointed. The sky was in turmoil, a great thunderstorm, but with every clap of thunder a bolt of _green lightning_ shot to the ground, spewing out dark figures—

 _Demons_. Haleir’s stomach turned. He recognized them from Leila’s descriptions of her nightmares—horrible wraiths of gray fear and despair, awful green monsters of terror with long stalking limbs. They were spawning from the Fade, into the real world without human hosts.

“It’s the end of the world.” He murmured, and Linnae just shook her head.

A horrid _cracking_ sound ripped through the air behind them, and they spun around. There was no lightning; it was more like a tear in the air itself, something pushing through from the other side. Linnae raised her hands, frowning in concentration, probably pushing some sort of unseen magic back. For a second, the grumbling tear shuddered, and Haleir thought they were saved.

But then a green burst of light _shred_ and suddenly a long-limbed terror demon sprawled out of the _hole that was now suspended above their campfire_.

Linnae screamed in frustration, and Haleir couldn’t help but be startled at her rage. She unsheathed her dagger and rushed forward, faster than he’d ever seen, but then Haleir got his wits about him and knocked an arrow. It met the demons eye in the next breath. Linnae took advantage of the creature’s shock to lunge at it and slide her dagger into its chest, then shocking it with an explosive burst of lightning.

She didn’t even wait for it to fall before she ran back towards Haleir and beckoned him to follow. “Come on. They just keep spitting out, there’s no way to stop it.”

He followed, looking over his shoulder—and sure enough, a hand of talons was reaching through. Oh  _Void_ no.

“How do you know?” Haleir bit out as he trailed her through the trees, coming to a stop at the edge of the frozen lake. They both looked at the sprawling chaos of the village, then the ruined mountainside. He took a step toward the Temple, but Linnae stood still, her hands twitching at her sides as she observed the village. “Linnae. Linnae, come on. We’ve got to find Thalia.”

But she didn’t even look at him. “We won’t.”

“What?!” Haleir exclaimed. “We have to try!”

“Nobody survived that blast. I saw it explode.” Her voice was numb, empty of all emotion. Linnae shook her head and gestured towards Haven. In the eerie green light, her face was like marble—Haleir had never seen her look so _calculating_. Distant. As if she was solving a puzzle instead of watching massive bloodshed unfold. “A lake at their feet and a mountain at their back. What a terrible place for a settlement.”

White-hot rage seared through him. There were a dozen things she wasn't telling him, but they could sort that out later. “If anyone could’ve made it, it’s her. We have to _try._ ”

“They’re all going to die.” Linnae started moving towards the burning village. “I can help this time.”

“Linnae— _Linnae!_ ” Haleir followed her, though, because _of course_ he did. Neither of them were the type to walk away from a fight.

And this was chaos.

Linnae was so calm, moving like liquid as she spun her dagger with one hand and dropped to slide a sword out of a fallen soldier’s sheath. She swung it twice in the air, experimentally, and seemed satisfied with the weight. All around, demons thrashed through the air, swiping indiscriminately at anything in their path. There were already so many dead, lying in their own blood, and Haleir’s stomach turned again.

“Bring as many _shemlen_ as you can to their temple,” Linnae called over her shoulder, her whole body tensing like an acrobat before she sprung headlong into the fray.

She took a running jump _onto_ a gray wraith, using her dagger to latch into its back and jamming the sword straight through it. The second it vanished into green smoke, she was rolling to duck under the swiping claw of a terror demon. Her face was impassive as she came up short, within the thing’s reach, and tore its throat out with a single gruesome swipe of her knife. He paused, just for a second, staring at her as she casually shook the green sludge from her dagger. She hadn’t even used magic.

It suddenly occurred to him that Linnae was _terrifying_.

A scream erupted nearby, and Haleir turned—a human woman, batting at a shade with what looked like the plywood from a floor. He drew and fired in two heartbeats; the green demon wilted away.

The woman—pretty, with short brown hair—looked at him with wide eyes. And after a split second, Haleir realized she wasn’t tracing his _vallaslin_ or the shape of his ears. She saw a bow and a quiver of arrows and _help_.

“Thank you,” she clutched her makeshift weapon to her chest.

“Go to the Chantry,” Hal urged her. “Tell everyone you see. You’ll be safe there.”

She nodded and took off at a run, nudging other villagers here and there to join her. Satisfied, Hal gripped his bow and longed for the set of hunting knives back at their camp. _He should have grabbed them_. But this will have to do.

It was rough work, taking the village back inch by inch. It seemed there were no tears in the air here; the demons were either spawning from the lightning bolts or had wandered down from the holes on the mountain.

He wound his way through the buildings and tents, finally arriving at the Chantry itself. A tall soldier stood at the entry, in heated discussion with a black-haired woman in a Seeker’s uniform. Their swords were both drawn, and the villagers streamed around them to get inside.

The Seeker gestured to the mountain. “We need to push further up, search for survivors—"

“We _can’t_ , until we secure our position—"

Haleir approached them, an arrow knocked and one eye on the roiling sky. “The north side of the village is clear.”

“And we—wait, what?” The soldier eyed Haleir suspiciously. Ashes coated his blonde hair and the giant mantle of fur and feathers slung around his shoulders.

“North side. It’s clear. Survivors in the Chantry.” Haleir straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. He was the Guard Captain’s First Lieutenant for a reason. “I’d send whatever forces you have left to hold the gates, and then we’ll push through the south side and establish a line facing the mountain.”

“And who are _you_?” The Seeker had a thick Navarran accent, and Haleir bristled at the accusation in her voice.

“Does it matter?” He barked back. “We’re all just trying not to die.”

“He’s right.” The blonde soldier nodded and waved for Haleir to follow as he turned south. “Cassandra, give the order for the gates. You, men, with me!” He pulled together what forces they had in the vicinity—a battered group of men, but fighters nonetheless.

Haleir fell into step beside him, dropping to pick up arrows discarded after the blasted demons dissipated into the Fade. At least they didn’t leave remains behind.

 _No,_ Haleir swallowed as he tried not to look down. _But people do._

The trip through the south side was much quicker than his journey to the Chantry—suspiciously so, in fact. He suspected a certain dark-haired lightning girl had cleared their way.

A wraith burst through a cabin door, screeching and lashing out at the blonde soldier—Haleir had an arrow in its eye before the man even raised his sword. It gave him enough time to skewer the thing and keep moving.

“What’s your name?” He asked, tossing Hal a grateful look.

“Haleir.”

He nodded. “Cullen.” They made it to the edge of the village. “How is this path clear? It should be…”

Cullen trailed off, and Hal followed his gaze up ahead, to the bridge that led up the mountain. His breath caught in his throat. _Linnae_.

She stood at the edge, gripping her dagger with white knuckles. The sword was gone, and she was covered in dark stains of red and green and black. A terror demon barreled towards her across the bridge, and Haleir found himself waiting for her to spring into action. To roll across the stones and tear the thing’s throat out with a brutal roar.

She didn’t.

“Linnae!” Haleir called, sprinting towards her and trying to draw his bow. _Get an arrow_ , _she’s just standing there—_

Linnae stood with her shoulders relaxed, chin up, staring the monster down as it came closer, and closer, its talons stretching out to strike—

Haleir drilled two arrows into its gaping maw. Cullen was already there, brushing past Linnae and driving his sword through the demon as easily as cutting down wheat. They exchanged a glance, and Cullen quickly ordered the soldiers to follow him as they pushed ahead. Haleir stayed with Linnae, stepping in front of her with a furrowed brow.

“Lightning girl.” He reached for her hands—they were shaking. Her eyes were unfocused, her breath coming in short bursts. Her dagger fell to the stones with a sharp _clang_ . “Breathe, little one, I need you with me. _Breathe._ ”

_He’s fourteen, and Leila’s had a nightmare. Her bright hazel eyes staring at her big brother, but not seeing him. She’s wheezing, choking on ashes. Her hammock’s singed, blankets burned._

_“Breathe, little one, just breathe. You’re okay.”_

“I’m here. Breathe.”

He’s twenty-seven, standing on a snow-covered bridge. She’s only three inches shorter than he is, but in that moment she was so small. Linnae gasped, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, finally focusing on him.

“I can’t stop it.” She sobbed, and he released her hands to grip her shoulders. “I can’t turn it back, she’s _gone_ and they’re all dead and none of them are coming back and—and what’s the point? What’s the point of any of it?” She kept crying, muttering in Elvhen, and Haleir couldn’t parse any of it. It didn’t even _sound_ like Elvhen, except for a word here and there. Had she even cried, in the past year? Had she shed a single tear since they’d discovered her?

“We’ll find her.” Haleir promised. “Thalia’s there, I can feel it. We’ll _find_ her.”

Linnae’s brow furrowed. “Not her. My family. My home. They’re all _gone_ and I—" she hiccuped. “I thought I could fix it and I _can’t_. They’re dead. This world is doomed.”

 _Of course_. Of all the times—she must have regained her memory. Must have finally realized what she’d forgotten. A hollow feeling dropped into his stomach— _her family is gone_.

Haleir knew that feeling. Thalia did, too.

His mind drifted to a hundred moments with this strong-willed mage. She’d reminded him of Leila the moment she opened those sky blue eyes; something about her spirit, an indomitable will. He taught her Trade. She saved his life on that boar hunt. (And she never told anyone or mentioned it again.) She made Thalia genuinely smile; without even realizing how difficult that could be.

“Hey.” He tilted her chin up. Blood streamed from a cut just below her lip, but Haleir didn’t flinch. He made a choice, because they were standing at the edge of the apocalypse, and they needed to stand together. “I’m right here, lightning girl. I know it hurts. I _know_. But… but you’re a Lavellan now. You’ve fought with us and bled with us. I am your brother and Thalia is your sister. We’ve all lost someone, but we’ve found each other.” Haleir took a steadying breath. She watched him with rapt attention. “Now, our sister is somewhere on that mountain. We’ve got to find her.”

“Our sister.” Linnae repeated. She was starting to return to herself—and there was iron in her voice. Lightning crackled at her fingertips, and Haleir quickly let go of her shoulders so he didn’t catch the current. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Linnae nodded once, and then bent to pick up her fallen dagger. When she rose, she only had eyes for the mountain. “Okay. Let’s go find Thalia.”

As fate would have it, they didn’t have to go very far.

There was a rush of people coming back down the mountain, the handful of soldiers led by Cullen. But there was a nervous energy among them, centered around the bundle Cullen carried in his arms.

Linnae grabbed Hal’s hand, and his heart skipped a beat. A tumble of honey blonde hair spilled over Cullen’s arm.

_Thalia._

“Back to the village,” Haleir gently pushed her as the group approached. Relief pounded in his veins, his heart soaring. He called to Cullen as they started moving. “Does she live?”

“Just barely.” The soldier was winded, but his arms held fast. “She needs strong healing.”

Haleir angled his way to Cullen, practically at a run, just to see for himself. _Oh, Thal._ She’d been through hell—pale, shallow breathing, all manner of cuts and scrapes on her skin. She cradled her hand in her sleep, some kind of odd-colored magical wound twitching her fingers. “That looks bad.”

 _Please,_ Haleir thought desperately. _Mythal, Sylaise, whatever gods are listening, whatever gods are left—please. Save her._

The village was still a roar of chaos when they arrived, but thankfully the lines had held and any stray demons kept at bay. Good. He still held Linnae’s hand, and she gripped it like a lifeline.

“Cassandra!” Cullen called out to the Seeker. “A survivor!”

Cassandra sprinted to them, flanked by another woman in a purple hood. The fire of grief and anger burned in their eyes, but Haleir could immediately tell that they were professionals, level-headed in such crises.

“She fell from a rift,” Cullen continued as he carried Thalia towards the Chantry. “She was physically in the Fade.”

Linnae squeezed Haleir’s hand, and he glanced at her. The dark-haired mage was deathly pale.

“Take her inside.” Cassandra commanded. “Find the best healer we have left.”

“To the dungeon,” the woman in purple amended, and everyone turned to her in confusion. Her sharp gaze was relentless. “She is our only witness, and our only suspect.”

“Whoever she is, she needs healing _now._ ” Cullen shook his head and marched into the Chantry. Haleir and Linnae were on his heels, until Cassandra stepped in their way.

“Wait.” The woman was steel, standing eye-to-eye with Haleir. “Who _are_ you.”

“Haleir.” He angled Linnae behind him, straightened his shoulders, and did not break Cassandra’s gaze. “Haleir Datishan of the Free Marches. That woman is Thalia Ghilanna, First to Keeper Ishmaethoriel Deshanna of Clan Lavellan. We were sent to observe the Divine Conclave on behalf of our Clan. _Peacefully_ ,” he quickly added, noting the steel glinting in the hooded woman’s eyes. The words—Thalia’s words, Deshanna’s instructions—poured from him easily. “Our Clan has been settled outside of Wycome for nearly five years. We have been just as affected as anyone by this war, and wanted to see for ourselves how close it might be to resolution.”

“Conveniently without invitation.” The hooded woman snarled. “ _Spies_.”

“Because who in their right mind would invite a _Dalish_ elf to the Temple of Sacred Ashes?” Haleir stressed, gesturing to his face with his free hand. “You think we are unaffected, but it is _your_ people’s blood that make our rivers run red. Your rogue Templars and rebel mages that block the roads and hunt the halla. They have run to _our_ hills and forests for survival, and they are doing a piss poor job of it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Sounds like a reason for retaliation to me.”

“We want _peace_.” Haleir felt Linnae squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, but moved his eyes to Cassandra. She seemed the more likely to hear reason, here. “We want nothing but this war to end, so we can go back to our lives. If your Divine could do that, that is what we came to see. That is what Thalia came to see. Now please, let us go to her. She is my friend, and she is my First. I am First Lieutenant in our Clan’s Guard, and it is my _duty_ to protect her.”

That struck a chord in Cassandra, her mouth flattening into a thin line. Something like understanding sparked in her eyes. “You will submit to a full interrogation. _All_ of you, should your friend wake. In the meantime, we have need for fighters, to hold the village in the midst of this onslaught. You will go with Cullen’s team and hold the line.”

The second woman spoke up again, narrowing her eyes on Linnae. “Who are you, then?”

Haleir quickly spoke up. “This is my sister, Linnae. She’s a seamstress, and she’s good with herbs. Helps our healers.”

The woman watched them for a long moment, taking in the way Haleir shielded her and how she was latched onto his hand. “Very well. The girl stays with us.”

He grimaced. They should _not_ let themselves be split up. But they had to play nice, as long as Thalia was at the mercy of these _shem_ ’s healers. Haleir turned and hugged Linnae in what looked like farewell, whispering in her ear in what little Elvhen he knew. “ _You’re adopted. No magic. Listen to everything.”_ He stepped back, meeting her bright blue eyes, and was pleased to see understanding there. “ _Mythal watch over you,”_ he continued at a normal volume, for the benefit of the two women standing behind him.

“ _Fly well._ ” Linnae nodded.

“With me, Miss Lavellan.” The hooded woman’s voice was sharp, and Linnae followed her through the massive doors of the Chantry. Haleir stood with Cassandra, suddenly full of nervous energy. She was still so pale, but her back was straight and her chin high. He hated to leave her alone.

But then Haleir remembered the liquid rage that had cleared half a village worth of demons single-handedly. The girl made of marble, who watched a mass battle without even blinking. _My lightning girl_. And suddenly, the slim young woman with haunting blue eyes slipping into the Chantry looked like a wolf in a ram's skin, welcomed into the barn.

They had no idea who they’d let inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the drama. 
> 
> These first couple chapters are kind of a slow setup, but we are getting to the good stuff! I might play with a couple more time-jumps here and there, as it's nearly a week before the Herald is any kind of functional and the Inquisition gets up and running. We'll see. And again, thank y'all so so much for the comments and kudos!! It really means the world to me to get even a little bit of my writing out there and share it with others who love these games and stories as much as I do <3


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